


Touchy-Feely Fortune

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Mid-Season/Series 07, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-27
Updated: 2005-12-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 04:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14441133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: Mulder returns to the land of the living (and this isn't even season 8!)





	Touchy-Feely Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

It was the fortune cookie's fault. 

Well, maybe not. Maybe it was Scully's. In all the years I've known her, she's never had a hunger attack the way she did that night. We had about fifteen minutes left on an extremely boring stakeout when she decided she could no longer do without food. The psychologist in me might have questioned whether it was true hunger or a feeling brought on by lack of mental stimuli, but the selfpreservationist in me told her I could go for some Hunan beef. She called in our order and we were off to the restaurant as soon as the next shift arrived to relieve us. 

Yes, Scully was probably more culpable than the massproduced, crap-flavored inanimate object I originally blamed. Or maybe it was really the fault of Walter S. Skinner, esteemed boss and sometimes sort-of friend, who gave us this assignment. I know he did it with the best of intentions, of course. I think hearing about my whole "my sister is in starlight, I'm free" speech scared the shit out of him. He probably thought I was finally going over the razor sharp edge of reality   
I normally surfed upon. After I had withdrawn my request for time off, Skinner had countered with this assignment: babysitting a suspected drug smuggler. The only problem was the suspect owned a brain and knew how to use it. He spotted the first tail in moments and laid low in his apartment ever since. That left us looking through high-powered binoculars at a whole lot of nothing. 

The thing is, I didn't much care. The less time I had to think about my losses and the disaster my life had become, the better. And the quest that had been the driving force of my life seemed rather pointless. I was actually relieved that our talents were being put to more mediocre use. 

Yes, it was probably, ultimately, Skinner's fault. 

Anyway, Scully was hungry and she ran into the King Kung Dynasty Take-Out-Is-Our-Life Restaurant almost before I had a chance to fully stop the car. She picked up our order and started handing out the white cardboard cartons as soon as tush met rich Corinthian pleather. 

"You weren't kidding about being hungry, were you?" 

"I never joke about low blood sugar," she said and started chowing down. I ate the spicy beef and took in our surroundings. There was nothing quite like fine dining in the front seat of a dark car, on a dark parking lot, with only two street lights casting eerie shadows on the bare trees and asphalt that surrounded us. 

After we ate, I rolled down the window a little to dispel the once charming, but now annoying, combined scents of my food and the sweet and sour chicken Scully had ordered. Instead of searching for something more interesting to talk about than the quality of said food or the possibility of following our meal with a BaskinRobbins run for dessert, I picked up my fortune cookie and opened it. 

I must have smirked as I read my fortune because Scully was suddenly interested. 

"What does it say?" 

"The usual crap." 

"That's not an answer to my question, is it?" 

I looked at her. She was playing with the cellophane wrapper of her own fortune cookie. There wasn't any noticeable change of expression on her face but there was something in her eyes. A spark of annoyance, perhaps? It wouldn't pay to antagonize the only person who really liked me. Most of the time. In spite of myself. 

"It says, 'you will do something nice for yourself.'" 

"And why is that crap?" she asked. 

"Because I do nice things for myself all the time." 

She leaned back against the car seat, holding the cookie between the thumb and forefinger of both hands while playing a kind of tug of war with the wrapper that gave off a steady crackling noise. "Like what, for example?" 

"I watch the Knicks." 

"Big deal." 

"It is a big deal. I like the Knicks." 

"I like Jeopardy. I don't send up balloons in celebration every time I get a chance to watch." 

"That's different. Men have a very serious - almost spiritual - connection to the teams they love." 

"I'm not casting aspersions on the team, Mulder. I'm just saying a man watching a sporting event is not a huge indulgence. Maybe if you flew out to New York, on a Wednesday, checked into the Plaza and bought yourself courtside seats, I'd give you credit for that one. But just watching a game on tv? No. What else do you do for yourself?" 

For a woman who didn't lay claim to loving sports, she sure knew how to play hardball. 

"Okay. I once went to Graceland. As a pilgrimage to Elvis." 

"I know about that trip," she said, with an almost undetectable (except to me) wince, "That was years ago and, therefore, doesn't count. What have you done for yourself lately?" 

"Shouldn't that question be accompanied by a little dance?" Visions of Scully doing Janet Jackson moves were quickly dispelled by her frown. She was serious and since she just referenced another time when I didn't take her quite as seriously as I should have, and the results were . . . oy . . . I straightened up and decided to fly right. "Okay. Since you imposed a random time restriction on this little game, all right. Give me a minute." I closed my eyes and leaned my own head back against the car seat. What nice thing have I done for myself? Lately? I got it. 

"My job. Some say my whole career has been nothing but a self-indulgence." 

"You and I both know it's not. Next." 

Crap. I closed my eyes again. Oh, this was easy. Scully wanted to play hardball. I could play hardball. "I know. My collection of . . . literature and visual entertainment." 

"Your porn?" Scully took her cookie in one hand and made a dismissive gesture with it. "That's stress relief through moderate titillation." 

I frowned. "You make it sound so . . . clinical. Clean, almost." I faked (or maybe didn't) a shudder. That brought a smile to her face. 

"You can't think of anything, can you?" She asked. 

"This is a stupid conversation, Scully. I'm not a baby. I don't need to constantly amuse myself." 

"You should, Mulder. You really should," she said with a soft, plaintive tone in her voice. And there it was: the accompanying look. There was pity in those baby blues of hers. 

"It's better when someone does something nice for you," I said, mainly because I couldn't think of anything else to get me out of this ridiculous conversation. 

"That's nice, too, but there is nothing wrong with a little self-love." 

"Yes, I know, you already told me that--Oh, Graduate of the St. Theresa's School for the Terminally Titillated. Are you going to open that thing or just drive me crazy by playing with it all night? Maybe your cookie holds some wonderful words of wisdom I can badger you about for the next half hour." 

Scully smiled and opened the wrapper. She broke the cookie neatly in half and pulled out the paper. "Your talents will be recognized and suitably rewarded," she read. 

"You see what I mean, Scully? Mindless sayings that can apply to anyone." 

"Exactly what do you expect? 'The truth is . . . fill in the blank?'" 

"Well, that would be nice. I could finally stop searching." 

I was hit square in the forehead by a flying half of a fortune cookie. " _We_ could stop searching, Mulder. We. Not just you. You know, maybe you're right. Maybe you do nice things for yourself all the time _if_ you truly are the masochist you sometimes appear to be." 

I stared at her. She really was pissed. 

"Why are we fighting over a fortune cookie?" 

"Because I saw it as the perfect opening to a conversation that is long overdue. Yes, fortunes can apply to anyone, but this one particularly suits your situation and I thought I could cajole you into indulging yourself for once. Really indulging. Getting those Knicks tickets. Taking a small, relaxing vacation where you see bright white sand and blue water. Something - anything - that would bring a smile to your face that would last more than a few minutes." 

"I smile all the time." 

"No, Mulder, you don't," she said, quickly wetting her lower lip in preparation for what promised to be a long speech. "You move your facial muscles at socially appropriate moments, but there is no real emotion behind it. You can't live a life without feeling and I know you're doing it to protect yourself right now but . . . " 

I was only half listening because her lower lip glistened as she spoke, and the sight sparked a memory that would bring this pointless conversation to a close. 

"I kissed you," I said. 

Scully seemed to stop in mid-rant. "What?" 

"A nice thing I did for myself lately. I kissed you. On New Year's Eve, remember?" 

Well, I hoped she'd remember although it wasn't my best work, as far as kisses were concerned. 

"I remember." 

"And you can't think of any reason to discount that one?" I was beginning to feel victorious. 

"If it meant something to you, and you considered it an indulgence - yes, it counts." 

Victory came with a price. We had to talk about . . . feelings. Men and sports equal a spiritual connection? Well, men and the discussion of feelings equal a need to get the hell out of Dodge. 

Still . . . 

"It meant everything to me." 

That wasn't so bad. Maybe because it was a simple truth, a rarity in my world. 

"So, I have one thing on my list, Scully?" 

"I guess so." 

"And this conversation is over, right?" 

"If you want it to be." 

I leaned back against the leather and closed my eyes for yet another moment. Scully lowered her window and took a few deep breaths of air. I know taking care of my psyche was something she felt a need to do, but I also realized it wasn't something she was naturally comfortable with. I wasn't the only charming touchy-feely misfit in the car. I was just the only one who wasn't trying. 

"It's hard to think of relaxing or having fun or much of anything, Scully." 

"I know. My timing is off. I mean, with your mother and Samantha ... " 

"The timing isn't off. Their loss is part of the problem but not all of it. It's my whole life, Scully. It's _our_ whole lives. My search for the truth was based on something - someone - that was long gone. It's hard enough to think of all the years of my own life I wasted but when I think of yours, it borders on the downright tragic." 

"There was no dragging involved, Mulder. I walked, with my eyes opened." 

"Well, then you're not exactly playing with a full deck, either, are you?" I said, glancing at her sideways. 

She smiled softly. "I guess not." 

I shook my head. She was such an impossibly stubborn woman. 

We both sat there for a while and she moved her hand over and kind of squeezed the fingers of my right hand as it rested against the seat. 

"You have no need to doubt the choices you made in your life. You believed, Mulder, and never gave up. That's admirable. I wish things could have been different with Samantha but, there were times when that same faith had happier results. It's probably the only reason I'm sitting alive in this car right now." 

I held onto her hand while I desperately tried not to remember those times I thought I had lost Scully. Losing Samantha, perhaps even losing my mother, brought a child-like wail to the surface. Our relationships had been frozen in time. The pain of their loss was pure and it raged, but it didn't resound with the deep and hollow sorrow of an adult loss. The loss of Scully would have left my heart empty for the rest of my life. 

"Mulder?" she said, shaking my fingers a bit. 

"Hmmm?" I was tired. I wanted to find a nice, fetal position and sleep for a couple of weeks. 

"You've been to more than one Knicks game, right?" she asked. 

"I've been to many." 

"Good. Repeat indulgences are the best." 

I looked at her and she was looking back at me with amusement in her eyes. Not pity, not sorrow, not a let'swin -one-for-the-Mulder and snap him out of it look. Just sheer, playful amusement. 

Touchy-feely misfit or not, I could recognize a pass when it was wearing neon and flashing on and off. I leaned close to her. She leaned close to me. It was kind of like a repeat of what almost happened in my hallway. Time seemed to be moving in slow motion and I was just millimeters away from the promised land when a blast of cold air came through the window. I could smell the stale remnants of my garlic-laden food and I moved back and began to search through my pockets. 

Scully moved away from me. "What are you doing?" 

"A mint, Scully. Believe me, I need a mint." I wanted to bowl her over but not with my breath. 

She grabbed me by the collar and kissed me. Kind of the way I did on New Year's. She zeroed in on her target and went for it. But unlike my tentative kiss, she really planted one on me. Soft and warm and loving. She pulled away and gave me that same slightly goofy grin she gave me when Dick Clark's voice provided our soundtrack for the evening. 

"So, I didn't need the mint, or you really love Chinese food?" 

"Something like that," she said, with a shy smile. I put my hands on the lapels of her trench coat and pulled her forward this time. She had aimed for a better performance of our New Year's Eve kiss; I was going for the gold: completing the near-kiss in my hallway. I was going to kiss her the way I had wanted to then or die trying. I leaned closer and closer and angled my mouth in just the right position - with my lips parted just where hers were and then - a soft, tender touchdown, followed by contact that could be felt clear down to my toes. Instead of cold, there was warmth. Instead of death, there was life. Instead of mindless wandering, there was purpose. And instead of near or barely there kisses, there were deep, passionate exchanges that I could relive over and over in my mind and, hopefully, have the nerve to repeat on a more regular basis. 

After several long kisses, we broke mouth-to-mouth contact and just sat there just holding each other. She seemed to find rubbing the nape of my neck as fascinating as I found running my fingers through the silky strands of her hair. 

I have no idea if the score ever evens out. If, for every loss, we gain something; for every sorrow, we find a moment of happiness. Somehow, I don't see life as that measured or even. I do know that I now felt a little less old, and a little less tired. I also felt a reason to go home and try and start working on some issues that I had to face in order to start the next phase of my life--the next phase of _our_ lives. 

I can put the blame on myself, my destiny, my mother, my father, my sister, my boss, my love or just, simply, my life. 

But no matter who or what was to _blame,_ I felt a spark of hope again, which ended my goal of becoming a mindless automaton. 

I would do nice things for myself. Once in a while. From time to time. It would give me balance and help me remember what we were fighting for. 

Besides, my fortune cookie said I would. 

And so did Scully. 

And everyone knows how good I am at following orders. 

The End. 

Author's Note:  
To J-my dad. Your light shines forever. Thank you (and mom!) for helping me find my own. 

#### If you enjoyed this story, please feed the author.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title: **Touchy-Feely Fortune**  
Author: Gina Rain  
Details: 14k  ·  PG-13  ·  Standalone  ·  12/27/05  ·   Email/Website      
Gossamer Category(Keywords): Story   [UST]     
Characters: Mulder, Scully     
Pairings: Mulder/Scully UST   
SPOILERS: mid-season 7   
SUMMARY: Mulder returns to the land of the living (and this isn't even season 8!) 


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